


Iron Loves Porcelain

by zombified_queer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Automaton!Remata'klan, Fairy Tale Elements, First Kiss, Living Doll!Keevan, M/M, and they lived happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Once upon a time in a very old land very far away, a living doll found an automaton sworn to guard the house to be very caring and handsome, always careful never to break him for the doll was made of porcelain.





	Iron Loves Porcelain

Once, in a house in a far-off countryside, there lived a mistress In her dear little house, she gathered up a collection of porcelain servants. The dolls, animated with the woman’s magic to offer their advice and keep her company in the large house, were all delicate and beautiful, with purple-coloured cheeks, eyes the colour of twilight sunsets, ridged ears, and dark, curled hair soft as lamb’s wool. They talked and walked and even slept like real people do.

At present, there were four who lived in the house with the mistress and two away, exploring all there was to see in the world. In order, the four in the house were Yelgrun, Borath, Weyoun, and Keevan.

Often, their mistress left the house on diplomatic errands, leaving the dolls to wander the house at their leisure. Since their mistress treasured all the porcelain creatures and treasures in her home, she often had animated metal men to guard the grounds and herself whenever she departed from her dear little home.

Keevan climbed into the window hours ago to watch the mistress leave, her body turning into a large hawk, two of her metal men following her. He'd pulled a book from the shelf, intent to read it, but found himself yawning, bored of lessons and of reading. The sun was quite warm and Keevan would have liked to curl up in the bay window, nestled on some soft, swan-down cushions, and drift off to sleep. After all the comforts of the mistress’ house were for her dolls instead of her.

But one of the metal men was staring up at him, keeping Keevan from napping. 

Keevan was certain the metal man was staring at him since he raised a hand and the man returned the little wave.

Keevan never dealt with one of the metal men waving at him before. He thought to call in one of the other dolls to see. But Yelgrun, who was kind and the oldest of all the dolls and, thus, knew everything there was to know, was probably curled up with a book by now. Weyoun, the doll made just before Keevan, always used his time to find trouble where he could, so Keevan knew he would be no help. The thought of asking Borath, who was barely younger than Yelgrun but smugly said he knew everything Yelgrun knew and more, made Keevan twist his face in disgust. 

Remembering the metal man in the garden, Keevan returned to watching him. The metal man eventually lowered his gaze and went back to patrolling the garden. Keevan found it quite queer that one of the metal men should stare at him. Half the time, the men outside acted as if the house never existed at all.

“What’re you doing?”

Keevan turned his head, finding Weyoun trying to climb into the window with him. Keevan gave the littler doll a shove, Weyoun landing on his bottom. Keevan often tried to punish Weyoun, thinking him more trouble to their mistress than she needed, but he was always careful never to crack the older doll’s porcelain or that would have made the mistress quite cross with him.

“It’s none of your business,” Keevan snapped. “Go make trouble somewhere else.”

Weyoun got to his feet, looking wounded. “I’m telling Yelgrun you shoved me!”

“Go ahead,” Keevan said, curling up again in his warm little spot. The doll raised his book, as if he might read it, but merely stared at the pictures, not that Weyoun knew the difference. “He’ll think you just tripped. You’re very clumsy and stupid.”

Weyoun huffed, turning and leaving the room, slamming the door on his way out.

Once the other doll was gone, Keevan went back to watching the garden, dozing slightly. Whenever the metal man patrolled past the window, Keevan would tap on the glass and wave, the metal man returning the wave, though clumsily.

And thus passed Keevan’s afternoon in the dear little house.

* * *

“Yelgrun, who are the metal men who guard the house?” 

Yelgrun paused in combing Keevan’s hair. “They’re the Jem’Hadar. Machines built to protect the mistress and us.”

“Can they think?” Keevan turned, kneeling before Yelgrun. “Like we can?”

“I’ve never thought to ask,” Yelgrun admitted, smiling at Keevan. “I suppose, if they wanted to, they could. But they live outside the house and we live inside. We’re not built to go outside.”

“What about the other dolls? They left to go outside the house.”

“The other dolls were made to go outside,” Yelgrun explained as he cupped Keevan’s cheek in a porcelain hand. “And they always travel with Jem’Hadar to keep them safe and fix them, should they ever get broken.”

“What happens when we break?”

“We go to sleep,” Yelgrun answered, letting go of Keevan’s painted cheek. “The mistress makes us rest while she repairs us.”

“I see.”

“Is that all?” 

“Yes, Yelgrun.”

“Run along, then,” Yelgrun told Keevan. “Tell Weyoun he’s due to be brushed and polished next.”

Keevan got to his feet, giving the eldest doll a respectful little bow before going off to find Weyoun and, hopefully, interrupt whatever trouble the other doll made.

* * *

Late in the night, Keevan began to feel quite hot. It was like he'd read about fevers and so the doll got up from his soft bed and all the quilts and blankets that swaddled him. He didn't quite know why, but he changed out of his nightgown and into some day clothes: shorts and a little shirt that buttoned up over his porcelain chest. 

He slipped on his shoes and crept out into the hall. 

From downstairs, there was a great roaring and the heat smothered the little doll. The flames flickers on the walls and over the furniture and began to come up the stairs. 

Keevan, in a panic, went to the window in the hallway, looking out of it. If he jumped, he would surely be broken into a million tiny pieces in the garden below.

And yet the flames kept consuming the dear house and were quite sure to swallow Keevan if he stayed. 

Unable to decide, the little doll wept at the window for he didn't want to die by jumping, nor did he want to burn to death.

"Jump!"

Keevan looked down and the metal man who had waved at him stood below the window.

"Jump," the man urged, "and I will catch you!"

"How do I know you will?" Keevan asked. 

"You have Remata'Klan's word," the metal man answered.

And Keevan looked at the flames blackening the wallpaper, which came away from the wall in strips, the glass of every picture shattering in the heat.

The doll jumped.

He was quite dizzy with the fear of it as he plummeted to the ground. Keevan closed his eyes, sure he would land hard on the ground and crack. 

But there was only a little crunch, as if he'd set foot on gravel.

Opening his eyes, he found himself in the metal man's arms, Remata'klan holding him the way Keevan had seen men carry their new wives over the threshold into their homes. 

"You're safe," Remata'klan told him. But he began to carry Keevan away from the house.

The very moment Remata'klan stepped outside the gate, the house collapsed into a pile of ash and embers.

"Did any of the other dolls get out?" Keevan asked.

"I don't know," Remata'klan answered. 

And Keevan went very quiet, content to be held by the metal man. Perhaps, he thought to himself, the other dolls were being protected by the metal men as well, carried off to safer places. Or perhaps the metal men had allowed the house to collapse onto them, shielding the dolls. Or perhaps everyone had escaped just fine, as Keevan had.

"Set me down," Keevan begged as Remata'klan began to carry the doll off into the woods. "I want to walk with you."

"It's better if you didn't."

"Why not?"

But the metal man did not answer and only continued to carry Keevan into the woods. He said nothing about putting Keevan down and, when the doll squirmed, only adjusted his careful hold to continue to carry Keevan.

Once they had walked a long way and the sun began to come up, they came to a clearing. Remata'klan kicked some of the stones and sticks out of the way, leading only a bed of soft, green moss. Here, at last, he set the little doll down.

Keevan understood why the Jem'Hadar didn't want to talk about his legs or setting him down or walking. All the way up from the delicate ankles to the hem of his shorts, the porcelain cracked from the impact of Keevan's fall, broken beyond the way either of them knew how to fix it.

"I'm sorry, Keevan," Remata'Klan said.

But Keevan, who thought himself ruined, laid down on the soft moss with no care for his clothes that were already scorched, buried his face in his arms, and began to weep pitifully, though without tears. He cried until he couldn't anymore, sobs wracking his porcelain body. All the while the doll had his fit, Remata'Klan found himself filled with pity and a sadness he'd never known before.

"It'll be alright," Remata'Klan said, kneeling next to the poor little doll, rubbing his back gingerly. "We'll figure something out."

"I'm broken!" Keevan cried out, lifting his head from his arms. "I'll never walk again!"

Remata'klan exhaled, a long puff of steam. He continued to rub Keevan's back, pet his hair, and try to soothe him while the doll continued to sulk. 

"At least let me carry you," Remata'Klan offered. "I could strap you to my back so you wouldn't need to walk."

Keevan sighed. "I suppose, if you had a bit of rope, but we haven't even got that."

Remata'Klan nodded. "I could carry you like I did before. You're not at all heavy."

Keevan glared at the Jem'Hadar. 

Remata'Klan scooped the doll up into his arms, holding him gently. As he'd said, Keevan was very light and easy to carry. And Jem'Hadar never grew tired or weary, no matter how hard or monotonous the task was.

Keevan put his delicate arms around Remata'Klan's neck, holding fast to him while the Jem'Hadar carried the doll out of the woods. 

Remata'Klan walked a little way, relishing in being outside in such fair weather. He cradled the doll against his chest, walking for the whole day through the forest. Keevan, though, sulked in the metal man’s arms or wept to himself over the loss of his home and the loss of his legs.

At last, they found a road that lead from the countryside to a village where people were already lighting the candles for the evening and doing their last-minute chores. All the while Remata'Klan walked down the road, his gears turning smoothly and his exhaust hissing steam while he carried Keevan into the village. 

And while the people were kind to each other, everyone knew the metal man and the porcelain doll in his arms belonged to the mistress in the countryside. Everyone knew she was a witch and refused to take them in, all of them thinking the metal man had stolen the doll. And certainly none of the farmers and milkmaids knew the first thing about repairing porcelain.

Keevan, who thought all hope lost, began to weep again in Remata’klan’s arms, burying his face in the metal man’s chest.

But, as it happened, there was a merchant who was also a stranger to the little village. He saw the metal man and the doll and smiled at them.

"I've sold all my wares for the day," the merchant told the two of them, "and my cart is empty. If you'd like a ride into the city, I could take the two of you. Certainly, there's nothing for you here in the village."

"We shouldn't trust strangers," Keevan murmured to Remata'Klan, hiccuping as he stopped his crying. "You could carry me to the city."

"Nonsense, little doll," the merchant said. "If it happened to rain while he carried you, all his gears would rust and you'd be stuck there until someone came along to help you."

"Still," Keevan said, though his protest was quieter and his hiccuping louder. "Is it really alright?"

"I just want to help," the merchant told the two of them. "Though I could use some help in return."

"He seems trustworthy," Remata'Klan said to the doll. "We'll help you with whatever you need, if only we can get to the city."

"Climb in back and we’ll be off." 

And Remata'Klan set Keevan gently in the back of the cart, amid the straw the merchant used to cushion his wares. Remata'Klan joined Keevan in the back of the cart, settling next to him.

"We'll be alright," Remata'Klan assured Keevan. "In the city, we'll be able to find you a new pair of legs or, at the very least, someone to fix them."

"I'm scared," Keevan admitted, clinging to the Jem'Hadar. "I've never been outside the house before."

Remata'Klan pulled Keevan into his lap, holding the doll carefully, not wanting to crack anymore of his porcelain.

And the merchant, who had heard all of their whispering to one another, smiled as he drove along the road to the city.

* * *

When they came to the city, Remata'klan and Keevan found it was full of people and full of noise. Everywhere they looked, there seemed to be some new spectacle. While the metal man cared not at all for the city, the doll curled against him, nearly trembling with fright. 

There were no dolls in the city, save for the little toys in the windows of stores. There were no metal men aside from painted tin soldiers. 

"Perhaps we've come to a terrible place," Keevan whispered.

"We could earn a living here," Remata'klan pointed out. "I could buy you new legs."

The merchant drove the carriage down an alley and the carriage jerked to a halt. 

"This is where I stop. Get out, tin man," the merchant said. He looked at Keevan queerly. "The doll stays."

"We go together," Remata'klan answered, getting out of the carriage. Keevan clung to him, the metal man carrying the doll on his back. "Where he goes, I follow. I am sworn to protect him."

The merchant got off the carriage and rounded it, raising himself to his full height. He was still a small measure shorter than Remata'klan.

"Don't harm him," Keevan begged, though he wasn't sure who he meant it to.

When the merchant made a move to grab the doll, Remata'klan snatched his arm and twisted it quite painfully. The merchant cried out and Remata'klan shoved him backwards, into a heap of empty crates and rats, which squealed loudly as they scattered. 

"You've killed him," Keevan whispered, quite afraid, but still clinging to Remata'klan. "Now what will we do?"

Remata'klan adjusted the weight of the doll to be more comfortable to the porcelain creature. "We'll have to leave the city."

"What if it rains?"

"It won't rain," Remata'klan assured him. "We'll be alright."

Carefully, Remata'klan made his way through the alleys and side streets on his way out of the city. When it came to the city wall, Remata'klan found it quite easy to scale, though Keevan clutched tighter to the metal man. 

But after Remata'klan had climbed back down again, there were quite safe in the surrounding woods.

Keevan, terrified at the thought of Remata'klan being injured or dismantled because of him, wept.

Remata'klan propped the doll up against the trunk of a large tree. "You don't need to cry." 

"It would have been better if I had burned up in the house," Keevan moaned. 

"No, no," Remata'klan said, settling next to the doll and cupping his cheek. "Not at all."

"Why not?"

Remata'klan swallowed. "Because I love you. To see you burn would have hurt me as well."

Keevan looked at the metal man. He was, now that Keevan could see him properly, quite handsome. The doll tore the hem of his shirt, wiping some of the soot from Remata'klan's face. 

Remata'klan took the doll's hand gently, kissing his palm. Keevan, flustered by all the attention, looked away.

Now, as it happened, a farmer had come to town to sell some of his crops. As he began to head home, the crying of the little doll had aroused his attention. Finding the two of them, he gasped quite sharply and the doll and the metal man looked at the farmer.

The doll spoke first. "Please, sir, we're wretched and miserable creatures. All we ask is a place to stay."

And the farmer, who was smart and kind, looked at Remata'klan and asked, "Are you strong?"

"I am, sir," Remata'klan said. 

"If you'll plow the fields for me, I can offer you a place to stay and some small wages," the farmer said.

The doll's face lit up and he looked at Remata'klan. The metal man took the doll's hands in his own, careful not to crush his delicate fingers. 

"And, since you're made of porcelain," the farmer added, "I can let you spin the wool into yarn for me to sell at the market."

"Thank you most kindly," Keevan said as he beamed at the farmer. 

Remata'klan allowed the doll to wrap his arms around his shoulders so when the metal man stood, the doll was settled on his back. Remata'klan walked alongside the farmer and his cart, the doll content just to be near Remata'klan.

When they arrived on the farm, the farmer helped get Keevan settled by the spinning wheel, which needed only the use of the doll's arms to operate. Once Keevan was spinning wool by the fire, the farmer set up Remata'klan to pull the plow, the metal man toiling in the fields.

And it was quite comfortable. Though the farmer's home was small, there was a space in the barn, littered with straw, that Remata'klan and Keevan slept in. Neither needed the hearth or thick blankets as autumn turned to winter. 

When winter turned to spring, there was some pride in Remata'klan's face at the small amount of coins he saved up.

One night, Remata'klan set the little doll in the loft, tucking him in. But he began to leave.

"Where are you going?" Keevan asked, watching the metal man.

"I've one last errand to run," Remata'klan said. 

The doll nodded and laid down, falling into a fitful rest.

In the morning, Remata'klan presented the doll with a large box, wrapped in shining paper. He smiled as he waited for the doll to unwrap the gift, delicate fingers picking at it. When he opened the box, the doll looked at Remata'klan. 

"I can't use these! They're much too fine."

"Nonsense," Remata'klan said. "You're worth the finest."

And the doll began to weep since the metal man had spent all his money on golden legs for the doll.

"No," Keevan said, placing the legs back in the box. "I could never walk on them. You deserve the money you've earned."

"I have no need for money."

But the doll set the legs back in the box, the gold nestled gently in the paper used to cushion it. He closed up the box, handing it back to Remata'klan. 

They went through the day as normal, chores done and work finished. But when they laid in the loft to go to sleep, Keevan found Remata'klan was gone and so was the box. 

The next morning, Keevan woke up to another box set in his lap. It was the same size as the previous one, though wrapped more conservatively. 

"Open it," Remata'klan said. "I hope you'll like these better."

Keevan unwrapped the box to find a pair of legs made out of iron. This time, he laughed. 

"I can hardly walk on these," Keevan told Remata'klan. "The iron will break the rest of me."

And with that, he closed the box and handed it to Remata'klan.

The metal man knelt in the straw, setting the box aside. He took the doll's face in both hands and kissed him, careful not to squeeze too tight. Keevan turned, leaning into the kiss. Porcelain clacked against iron, ust gently, before Remata'klan pulled away.

Dazed, Keevan blinked a few times. "I've never kissed anyone before."

"Was it...bad?"

"No," Keevan answered. "I think I liked it a lot. I wish you would have done it sooner."

Remata'klan smiles.

Again, they go through their chores. While Remata'klan plowed the fields and Keevan mended the farmer's clothes, the lovers smile. Their work was light.

Yet when they laid down to sleep, Keevan found Remata'klan gone again. Again, the box disappeared again.

In the morning, Remata’klan woke Keevan with a kiss to the doll’s violet-painted lips. Keevan hummed, turning to curl into the metal man’s form.

“I think I finally have something you might like,” Remata’klan murmured.

“Oh?”

This box was the same size as the previous two. But rather than being wrapped in fine paper, this one was plain brown paper, tied up with twine. Keevan, unsure, untied the twine and opened the box. 

This set of legs were carved from fine porcelain. Instead of being plain while, they were painted with violet flowers, green leaves. There were beautiful but delicate, perfect for the doll.

Unable to contain himself, he threw his arms around the metal man, planting kisses all over Remata’klan’s face.

“Will you put them on me?” Keevan asked, unable to restrain his assignment.

Remata’klan nodded.

Slowly, the doll pulled off his shorts, needing the metal man to help him. Stripped, the doll laid back, allowing Remata’klan to remove the old legs, which had only chipped and cracked worse with the changes of the seasons. 

Remata’klan cleared the doll’s sockets, ensuring no straw would be trapped in his body. He strung the new legs, fixing Keevan up quite nicely. When the legs were added, Remata’klan dressed the doll again and helped him to stand. 

Keevan, unaccustomed to walking again, stumbled and needed to lean against the metal man for support. He smiled at the metal man, loving just to be held. “I might need help learning to walk again.”

“Anything at all for you, my love,” Remata’klan said.

And Keevan, overwhelmed with happiness, kissed the metal man quite lovingly.

* * *

They lived with the farmer for a great long while and, on his deathbed one winter, the man left the farm, the horses and sheep, the fields and the trees, all to the metal man and the doll. Happily, they tended the animals and the land. The doll made sure Remata’klan never rusted and was always shining like freshly-smithed armour. The metal man always inspected the Keevan for any cracks in his porcelain, replacing limbs that were too damaged to continue working and repainting Keevan’s face when the paint began to fade or to chip.

Their mistress never came looking for them, so the Keevan and Remata’klan lived happily on the farm for a long, long time.

* * *

THE END


End file.
